Page 68 of Hers to Command

“Pity. I’d have taken that bet.”

I gesture to the chair across from me, but he waves me off, stepping closer instead. He gives me a look I don’t quite like. Obviously, there is something he wants to discuss.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting up straighter.

“Toni Giordano called me.”

That I didn’t see coming, though I keep my face neutral. “Toni called you? And?”

“He says Riccardo wants to host a dinner at his... well, your house. With Gianna. To discuss Dmitri’s death.” Sergei leans against the edge of the desk. “Giordano says Riccardo wanted me to check with you first. See if you’d rather extend the invitation yourself or if he should. And if you want Mikhail there.”

For a moment, I don’t respond, trying to unravel Riccardo’s intentions. He went through Sergei. He could’ve called me directly or, worse, bypassed me entirely. After his annoyance this morning, it wouldn’t have come as a complete surprise. Instead, he’s involving me, even giving me the chance to take the lead on this.

“He went through you?” I ask, needing to hear it again.

Sergei nods. “He did. Guess he knows how to play nice when he wants to.”

I exhale, leaning back in my chair. Riccardo might be many things, arrogant and infuriating among them, but he’s also calculating. He’s sending a message, not just to me but to Sergei, and the men here, to everyone who needs to see that I have a seat at the table. A seat my father would never have given me.

“What do you want to do?” Sergei asks, his voice calm, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes and I wonder if he’s enjoying the fact that things aren’t predictable for him anymore. From stories, I know that he used to be a wild card when he was a young enforcer, but I could never actually make that make sense with the Uncle Sergei I knew. Now though? Perhaps I can see it.

“I think Riccardo knows exactly what he’s doing,” I say slowly.

“And?”

“And I’ll play along,” I add, letting the corner of my mouth lift in a faint smile. “I’ll be calling Gianna Bruno myself to extend the invitation.”

“Want me to call Toni back and tell him?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ll call Riccardo directly.”

Sergei pushes off the desk. “You do that.”

I don’t respond as he leaves, closing the door behind him. Time to make a few calls and get my husband to meet me at home so we can catch up on that celebration I’ve been missing out on.

The moment I step through the front door of the house, I know Riccardo beat me home. I can hear the faint murmur of his voice through his office door, speaking to someone. I pause briefly before I push it open without knocking.

He’s alone, leaning against the edge of his desk, phone in hand. His suit jacket is slung over the back of his chair, and his tie loosened. When he looks up and sees me, something shifts in his expression.

Yeah, I think I can convince him to celebrate a little.

His eyes follow me as I cross the room and he lowers his phone, ending whatever call he was on with a quick ‘I’ve got to go.’

“I asked Mrs. Batton to have dinner tonight catered,” he says, his eyes busy undressing me already.

“Later,” I murmur. “We can talk about that later.”

“Anya,” he says, his voice a warning, but there’s no way he isn’t already eighty-nine percent on board with what I’m doing.

I step closer, closing the space between us. My fingers slide up to his collar, tugging gently until his tie comes undone. His hands settle on my hips, his grip firm.

“I don’t feel like talking right now,” I say, my voice dropping.

Riccardo’s jaw tightens, but I can feel the moment he gives in. His hands slide up my sides, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.

“Anya,” he murmurs again, his voice rough. “You’re impossible.”

I smile, brushing my lips against his. “And you seem to like it.”

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